Author Archives: Alan Ilagan

When you get caught between the moon and New York City, I’m not exactly sure where you’d be. Far preferable would be to get caught between Tom Holland and Jake Gyllenhaal, who make bromantic chemistry in the latest Spiderman movie. Mr. Gyllenhaal has been here numerous times before. See the following:

• Jake Gyllenhaal Naked
• Jake Gyllenhaal Nude
• Jake Gyllenhaal Shirtless
• Jake Gyllenhaal Body
• Jake Gyllenhaal Ass
• Jake Gyllenhaal Butt

Well, you get the Jake Gyllenhaal Point.

PS – Their promotional tour will likely be documented in future posts because it was too damn good. 

Whenever I’m feeling a little lonely, I just slip into my junkiest pair of gym shorts and some ratty t-shirt, fuck up my hair before forgetting to hide it with a baseball cap, and put on a pair of faded flip-flops – then head to the nearest grocery store. There, I will invariably and without fail run into numerous coworkers, acquaintances, family, friends, enemies, nightmares, and anyone who has been anyone in my life: a veritable who’s-who cornucopia of a cluster-fuck with me at the center of it all, dressed in sartorial-reputation-tattering rags.

Works like a charm every time.

Now, when I want to lay low, I just get all dolled-up and put on high hopes of having everyone see me and I will be completely left alone. That’s when it falls to strangers to stroke the ego and fan the flames of self-idol-dom.

This is the way of the universe, and the universe is nothing if not infuriatingly clever.

Ahh, Instagram.

I say that in a tone tinged with fatigue and admiration.

It’s always been the easiest social media outlet for me to use, at least on an emotional level. In a practical sense too I suppose, though some might say it’s much simpler to post a few words on FaceBook or Twitter than to take a photo worth sharing. I’m somewhere between the camps, in an overpriced hotel with a balcony because I do not do camping. But back to Instagram before I digress completely into Troop Beverly Hills wanna-be territory.

{Follow.}

It’s a platform for pictures and hashtags, and they don’t even allow you to put a website link on each post which makes for a cleaner experience. (They don’t seem to mind the ads though.) Anyway, I go back and forth between putting effort into my Instagram account and not doing anything for a day or two, and my feed swings wildly among various states of nudity, pornographic plant pics, culinary glory holes, and gratuitous cocktail money shots.

My followers pick up whenever things get racy and shirtless, then decline when I post family-friendly shit, but the latter is so much more interesting and fun for me, so I’m left wondering: is the point of Instagram to gain notice and glory, to stay in touch with friends and online acquaintances, or just to have a good time? Or maybe it’s just a time-filler for those who can’t stand to sit alone at a cafe and simply look around and engage with a real environment. I’m still figuring that out.

{Follow me here.}

The cardinal rule for social media that has allowed me to be rather successful in certain manners of measurement has always been not to take any of it too seriously, while honoring my own voice and image and doing my best to convey authenticity. It’s too taxing to fake it, but too silly to take it too gravely. I find a lighter touch works best, which is what I’m trying to work out for Instagram. If you like what you see here (I’m partial to strong color and vivid shades) check out my Instagram handle (alanilagan) and hold on tight.

{FOLLOW MY ASS.}

I earned my crotchety old man badge this July 4^th, when at 12:30 AM I was still awake in bed because some neighborhood idiots were setting off fireworks. Not the quiet smoke bomb kind or sparklers, but the real rocket deal that shoot way up in the sky and explode with thunderous booming and banging. The local dogs were going wild, so between the barking and the explosions, I didn’t have a restful night.

I still don’t know how/if that kind of explosive is legal. I also don’t think they’re supposed to be setting them off after 10 PM. I do know that I am officially a grumpy old man, but the truth is I was a grumpy old man at age 11, so now I’m just super good at it. Give me my badge and stop talking.

The heat is on! Finally, enough sun. And too much fun to be had stroking these keys on this computer. On with the recap!

It began with more heat, courtesy of these shirtless male celebrities. 

A turkey was my neighbor for a brief time. 

Some #TinyThreads for your perusal. 

The first time I heard ‘Delta Dawn’ and it was in P-town. 

The 4th of July. 

Purple stars.

Yellow drops. 

Our Connecticut adventure – Part One and Part Two.

Summer song by the Spice Girls. 

Rub it. 

Hunks of the Day included Tom Holland, Paulo Avelino, Jake Owen, and Dominic Thiem. 

EVER SINCE YOU WERE GONE I FELT DEPRESSED

EVERY MONTH, EVERY YEAR THAT PASSED

EVERY SMILE ON YOUR FACE

EVERY ACT OF GRACE

IT REALLY IS KEEPING ME AWAKE…

We rose to more sun, even if the fabled storms were on the march. Outside the bathroom window, I looked at the rolling hill of green grass that led down to the pool. Bushes of spiraea in umbrels of pink hosted clouds of happy bees, while the vining heads of bittersweet unfurled their pesky tendrils. A pale purple clematis shrugged off a few striking blooms. Summer in the moment of a morning…

Downstairs, I could already hear the kids in action. How much summer living had we already slept through? Kids are magical in the way a few minutes can elongate into hours, in the way that so much can seem to happen in such a short stretch of space, in the way their perception bends time. I wanted to slow things down as well. The day of departure begins with the recognition of impending change. Andy headed down while I took a quick shower.

As I got dressed, I looked over the little chalkboard on which the boys had written welcome messages. Gift bags that they had filled were off to the side and I suddenly felt sadness at having to leave. There was never enough time. Especially when children are involved. Soon there would come a day when these summer mornings weren’t quite as magical, when they didn’t hold as much hope and promise as a kid who just finished the school year feels. It’s still a while off for Julian and Cameron, and I only wish they hold onto them, enjoy them, and wring out every bit of laughter, sunshine, tears, happiness, and love as they possibly can. Hopefully they’ll also remember the guys who visited at the start of summer. (To make sure that those guys remember too, I’ve written it down in these blog posts.)

Over breakfast we talked over our summer plans, what little there were of them. Summer isn’t something that should be completely planned out, but it’s always good to have something substantial to look forward to. We tentatively planned a stop-by at our house – it’s been years since they’ve visited, and it would be lovely to have the kids see where we live. Eventually, the boys found occupation in the family room, as Cameron executed some gymnastic splits and Julian prepared a song on the ukulele.

I wandered in to help Cameron change out outfits for his Lego characters. A bald man wore a dress. A princess spun her hair around and became Sia. Another princess did a back-bend. The imagination bamboozled all boundaries; the power of childhood obliterated constrictions. With a fanciful eye for fashion and color (he wrote a little story on Frida Kahlo which he had colored in bright and bold shades that would have made her proud), Cameron was an exuberant life force, embodying the freedom of a childhood lived to the fullest. I hoped he would stay that way, never changing no matter what.

Andy joined us as Julian readied a song he had just written – and by written I mean he had created the lyrics and music from start to finish – which comes naturally to some, but will always be an insanely impressive feat to someone who only remembers the opening chords to ‘Private Dancer’ on the piano after seven years of weekly lessons. (I can do a bit of ‘The Rose’ too, thank you very much.) Julian is very much a musical prodigy – he’d just shown off by jumping into a couple of Madonna tunes from YouTube. Now his ukulele was strumming to the sound of his own music, his own melody, and his own words. As it was last year, this year his song would be one of the highlights of our visit.

The sun poured into the living room, and after a spat of a quick downpour, summer was once again preening in sparkling beauty. As I loaded the car, I paused by the sundrops along the walkway. They glowed in the sunlight, their cheery yellow petals still holding onto a couple of twinkling raindrops. I waited until the memory was made, then went back inside to say our goodbyes.

BUT WHEN YOU FLY AND YOU’RE FAR AWAY

WHEN IT’S KEEPING ME AWAKE

BUT THE THING THAT IS NEVER GONE AWAY

IS THE LOVE THAT’S BETWEEN YOU AND I…